Tony Stark: Homecoming
by virtualailee
Summary: Of course there would be ramifications to the superhero Civil War. How could things be OK with Captain America on the lam? Tony Stark was all that was left to hold down the fort, and even that was a lost cause. The Sokovia Accord needed a foil, and Peter Parker would fit right in. He'd used the kid once, he'd use him again. All is fair in love and war.
1. Chapter 1

It was a ten-hour non-stop flight from Frankfurt to New York on a domestic carrier. Shame, would've taken Iron Man half that time. Half of _that_ if he broke supersonic, but that would be… not very cost effective. Regardless, perks of having his name emblazoned on the side of a private jet? Everybody could fly anytime. Comfortably, too. Tony Stark took the chair closest to the emergency exit and brooded, plain ignored the rest of the Avengers – what was left of them anyway – who were filing wordlessly down the aisle and strapping themselves to their respective seats.

They were miserable.

Cap's fault.

His phone buzzed, and surprise, surprise, it was a message from Spider-Ling. Something about catching Lufthansa's midnight flight from Frankfurt. Great, so were they, the righteous Pro-Reg. He texted Peter back, offering to chauffer him home. It was good manners.

He couldn't tell which felt worse. The incessant pounding in the back of his skull? All the contusions, a fractured left arm, bruised ego – or the sight of Steve's back against him, with fugitive James Barnes by his side? One misstep and Peter could've gotten really hurt. He sicced the kid on Cap, he did. Didn't work out the way he wanted anyway. People – good people – whom he'd called brothers and sister-in-arm were all on their way to the Raft with shackles around their hands.

Like criminals.

"Tony?"

He looked up from his lap at the soft call of his name, and found the Widow staring back at him.

"You OK?"

And then, there was Rhodey. It was touch and go for a while. The docs said, Rhodey at his present state wouldn't survive a long-haul flight. He had to stay. Tony couldn't, because he had _duties_ to perform, a team to protect since Steve Rogers had wilfully abandoned them –

"You're bleeding."

"… Huh?"

"Here." Then, Natasha was kneeling before him, dabbing a wad of tissue paper on his philtrum. A flimsy three-ply that carried the faintest scent of cheap perfume. "It's gonna be a long flight. Get some rest."

He reached up and stilled her by the wrist. Her green eyes snapped back at him, inscrutable the way they always were. At least Steve was an open book.

"Thanks," he said simply, and he took the bloodstained tissue from her hand.

He was, for all intents and purposes, fucked. Now, down to the last sixteen hours before Ross showed up on his doorstep demanding Captain America bound and gagged, choking on a bow. Steve had at the first opportunity taken out all of the trackers in his uniform and the Quinjet he stole. The only way to catch up to him was to persuadethose loyal to him to betray him.

Tony liked his odds.

He slept through most of the ten hours, and when Vision floated over to rouse him, they'd already landed. First thing he did was to excuse himself to the bathroom and waved at everyone – thank you for everything, enjoy the rest of the weekend! – and promptly walked past the gents.

"Mr Stark!"

He had a young Padawan to attend to, after all.

Peter looked well, all things considered. He wondered if like Steve, Peter had super-healing, too. No overt injuries, not even a scratch on his babyface.

"Mr Parker," he clasped his good hand over Peter's shoulder. "Good flight?"

"Yeah! Yeah, absolutely – I'd never flown first class. I'd never flown anywhere, in fact, but I really appreciate you uh, paying for… everything. Thank you."

He'd lost the kid at "Mr Stark" to be honest, but let not that fact discourage him from yapping about Captain America's cool shield, or Ant-man's cool powers, or Barnes' cool metal arm –

"You can keep the suit."

"- which was _wicked_ – wait, what?"

"The suit. It's yours. Keep it."

It took Peter three full seconds before it dawned on him that Tony was serious. Christ, when was he _never?_

"Oh my God – thank you so much, Mr Stark. I'm not… are you _sure_?"

"If you ask me that _one more time_ –"

"OK, gotcha." And then, Peter was all silent for a couple of seconds, sporting the widest grin Tony had ever seen on someone sitting next to him. Kid was probably the only person who left the Leipzig/Halle Airport whole and unbroken.

Peter turned fully to face him, and bluntly, he asked, "Am I an Avenger?"

" _No_." Where did that come from?

"So, to become an Avenger, are there like trials or an interview?"

"You just don't do anything I would do…" This would end badly, he could taste it in the air. "And definitely don't do anything I _wouldn't_ do." Tony stuck out his thumb and index finger, leaving a teeny weeny gap in between, "There's a little grey area in there and that's where you operate. Stay close to the ground."

Tony thought he just died a little on the inside. He shooed Peter out of his car, gave him his blessings, and the soonest he was out of sight, Tony heaved a shuddering sigh, and ran a palm over his eyes.

He held himself together until Happy returned to the driver's seat.

"Where are we going next, Boss?"

"… Was that a mistake?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, and combed his hair with his fingers. God, he had a bump the size of a ping pong ball right above his hairline. "You think I shouldn't have brought the kid along?"

Happy pushed his gear into drive, and said, "The Tower it is. Maybe a warm cup of ginger tea would help you sleep."

Tony purred contently, eyes already slipping to a close. "Sounds good. Who taught you that?"

"… Captain Rogers." And Tony sucked in a deep breath, back straightening as he sat up in his leather cushioned seat. "Sorry, Boss."

"Take me to the Compound."

Happy obliged, though his shoulders seemed somewhat squared the entire journey.

Then, he bade Happy goodbye and gave him the day off. Once locked inside his office, Tony paced the expanse of it enough times that he was burning a path on the carpet. Anytime now, that phone would ring –

Tony picked it up on its first ring.

"Mr Stark," Ross' voice was like sandpaper to his ears. "I hope Captain Rogers and his associates have been secured, as you'd promised thirty-six hours ago."

"… We lost Rogers and Barnes, but the rest have been sent your way at the Raft."

"That wasn't the deal, Stark. Where's Rogers and Barnes?"

And Tony felt like jabbing Ross in his eyes. "They escaped," he admitted bitterly. "I need more time."

"… Meet me at the Raft. You have two hours."

The line was killed, and he slammed the receiver into place. He was all that was left to hold down the fort. And pray tell, what use was a fort but thick walls when its belly had only cobwebs for company?

In young Peter Parker he placed his hope. _His wild card._ He'd trust Peter's innocence and wide-eyed idealism to steer the ship back on course. Have him restore order on the streets as the nameless and faceless. Slowly and surely, Ross would come to see how useful it was for supers to play vigilante.

Still didn't feel like he was winning.

Of course there would be ramifications to the superhero Civil War. How could things be OK when emCaptain America/em was on the lam? Tony Stark was all that was left to hold down the fort, and even that was a lost cause. The Sokovia Accord needed a foil, and Peter Parker would fit right in.

He'd used the kid once, he'd use him again. All is fair in love and war.

[An alternative take of Spider-Man: Homecoming, from Tony's POV.]

Hello, beautiful people! I just watched Homecoming yesterday, and I can't help but see the events unfurl from Tony's POV. I think the movie pays a better homage to 616!Civil War than Captain America: Civil War, so that's something ^^ This is almost like a 6-part of "deleted scenes" that revolves around Tony, and why I suspect, that Tony "condones" Peter's vigilantism not because he likes the kid, but because Peter is useful as an example of why Sokovia Accord isn't perfect.

Manipulative Tony Stark at its best (if my theory is right XD).

Please enjoy the story!


	2. Chapter 2

Letting Peter loose and gifting him the suit hadn't been proven a mistake so far. Crime rates fell by twenty percent the first three months he was active… so said the report FRIDAY had compiled for him. Tony tapped the side of his glasses and the matrixes cascaded, luminescent green numbers against a black background. One thing that made Tony nervous was the tiny radius in which Peter's activities were localised. If somebody were _really_ serious about tracking him down, he'd be outed before he could say "Assemble". He'd give it to Peter though, for somebody who had to make it back to the dinner table before seven every evening, kid tried to cover as much ground as he could.

And what was up with all the YAs' craving to be internet sensationalists? Even by Tony's standards, the idea of making vlogs of himself taking names and kicking ass was kind of pushing it. Not that he'd advise Peter that the most expedient way to up view counts was to start taking off clothes.

May would defenestrate him.

Anyway, at least Peter was taking the stay-close-to-the-ground bit of the "internship" seriously. The details of what he did had always been a little vague – ha, who was he kidding? Peter made _sure_ everything – down to the chipped third-tooth-from-the-left of the baddie-of-the-week was included in his report to Happy. At least he now knew that the best churro in town was on 37th in Flushing.

"Boss, have you seen this?"

Tony propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Did he save a poodle from the tree? About time. Listen, I've to go back to the 'shop for a bit –"

Happy shove his phone right under Tony's nose and the video was already playing. It looked like a recording from a traffic camera, and he focused on the corner deli shop because – blink and he'd miss it – a purple beam just shot right through the front door. The explosion that followed soon after took out the neighbouring shops as well, everything going up in flames and ashes.

"Where was Parker when this happened?"

"The bank opposite the junction."

"What was he doing there? Any visuals?"

"… Yes. Scroll down."

It was the most one-sided fistcuffs in the history of bank robbery. All partakers wore goofy masks, so identification was impossible. Gloved. No fingerprints. Their choice of weaponry was interesting, though. Nothing he ever seen before, and he was Anthony freaking Stark.

"Send Damage Control."

"Already did. They've secured the perimeter. Parker hasn't logged in, though. Uh," another phone rang from Happy's pocket to the tune of "Hush, Little Baby". "OK," Happy's thumb did a quick swipe, "He's fine. Four unidentifiable guys wearing the uh, Avengers mask were using weird gizmo to rob ATMs."

"Did he grab one of those laser guns?"

"One of the shots went wide and hit the deli opposite. The owner and his… cat, were caught in the crossfire, so he left the bank to pull them out." Tony's features pinched, and he stood up to pace his office. "When he returned, the robbers were gone."

"Sure. Ask Damage Control if they recovered anything suspicious. Get a copy of everything from their forensics."

Happy nodded, and returned both phones to his jacket. "And make no mention of the kid?"

"Say we saw the footages and got curious."

"Yes, Boss."

Truth was, having Peter on the ground serve another purpose.

"FRIDAY, play back the robbery recorded from the Spider-Man suit."

Before anyone asked, no, Peter didn't know there was such a thing as a body camera sewn onto the suit. And no, Tony had no intention of telling him that either. All part of the Training Wheel Protocol. The video played out as Peter reported. Tony tutted at the robber donning _Cap's_ mask – he'd always hated those little wings sticking out of his head. So tacky. But finally, he had clear visual on the alienware Peter spoke about. They glowed purple, eerie. And he thought they looked familiar.

" _Christ_."

But, of course. He'd seen them countless of times in his sleeps, and he _felt_ those purple beams shoot right through him, through Steve, Bruce – everyone. He saw those gems on Chitauri's weapons – their signature power source.

How did lowly robbers get their hands on them in the first place?

"Boss," FRIDAY intoned with all the enthusiasm an AI could ever possibly muster. "It's time for your flight to Pondicherry."

That. He would have all of twenty freaking hours to brood on the plane about the _how_ and _why_ would people bother to reverse engineer alien tech to rob some ATMs in Queens. The same reason why he couldn't understand people with access to infinite knowledge at the tip of their fingers would choose to gawk at cat videos.

Guess imagination really was the limit.

As he was stuffing his face with _gulab jaamun_ and _pani puri_ , and wondering if someone from DODC was smuggling tech to sell on the black market, or if the common people had taken the liking to squirreling away alien stuff before enforcement arrived, or if Steve and everyone else had a roof above their heads, or food to eat, or –

Point was, despite all that, he couldn't help worrying about Peter. The suit had its defences, he made JOCASTA Peter's co-pilot, and Happy was babysitting him. The kid was in good hands.

Did Howard ever worry about him like this? In between running SHIELD and Stark Industries, did he ever spare a minute to think if his son had had lunch, or done his homework?

"Boss," FRIDAY chimed into his ear. He had an earpiece on, in case it was the end of the world – what he called his normal Tuesdays. "The parachute on Spider-Man's suit has self-deployed."

He choked on his banana chip. " _What?_ What's he up to?"

"Mark IX had been sent to his last coordinates. Would you like to connect to its com line?"

"Might as well."

His lavender shades immediately turned darker, and he realised it was only New York's night sky. Piggybacking on a suit like this was marginally exciting – until to his _horror_ , it did a sharp turn and started plummeting towards a large body of water.

"Oh, God – FRIDAY, what is –" A waiter in flamingo pink saree offered him a tray of crackers, and he expertly schooled his expression to one of mild disinterest. "No, dear. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Boss," FRIDAY chimed again in his ears.

The suit made impact and it got even darker, mud and pebbles clogging his view.

"Location?"

"Meadow Lake, Flushing Meadows Corona Park –"

" _Why_ are we in submarine mode, FRIDAY? Where's Parker?"

"… Safely acquired. His vitals are steady. We're pulling up."

And light came back. If he bowed his chin a bit, he could see a bit of red Spandex with printed black webbing. Unprompted, Peter's stats came up on his screen. Maybe he should buy Peter all sorts of insurance because at this rate, even a genius-billionaire would go bankrupt just financing his medical bills.

The suit dropped Peter on a playground net climber, and hovered some seven feet off the ground.

This was all so new to him, he realised. Never in his forty-something years of living that he'd find himself in a position to _lecture_ somebody less than half his age. Rugrats had… never really been part of the equation. Anyway, this particular one was talking about people selling alien weapons in the open. Boy, what bedtime stories had May been telling the kid in those crucial developing years?

The cops would never take this case.

"Don't engage them," Tony said into the mic pinned to his lapel. He waved at Deepinder Goyal from afar – now he got a hankering for more of that gulab. "Report this incident to the police. Tell them what you see, and that's _it._ Drop the case. Let them handle it."

But, Tony remembered how it was like to be fifteen.

"Happy, download the latest recording from Parker's camera. Then, make sure he goes to the doctor, and _then_ , _the cops._ "

"… Yes, Boss."

And, scene. He'd committed one full hour at this lovely ceremony, he'd shaken all the hands that needed to be shaken, sampled everything available of the trays. Time to tap out. Now all that was left to do was to convince Ross – in the best, diplomatic way possible – about meeting halfway with the supers. Like what Peter was doing. He wandered the ground, worked covertly in anonymity collecting info.

The most valuable informant a government could ever want.

Better that than fugitives on the run.


	3. Chapter 3

Who would've guessed, leading the Avengers was a shitload of work. Steve never said a peep when he was running it. This should be orders of magnitude harder for him – catching up with technology, coping with a century worth of difference in human behaviour, agendas that seem so foreign. All of which Steve handled with grace and confidence. How did he handle the bureaucracy, the _hypocrisy_ and haven't yet thrashed every mirror in the house –

Not doing that tonight.

Funny how Ross was so accessible when he wanted something from the Avengers, and became a mythical creature when it was the other way around. They'd been _lucky¸_ all things considered, that two months since Steve called it quits, there hadn't been a reason to run a field test for the Accord. And the longer time lapsed, the edgier he got. He knew these documents weren't perfect, and Steve said it too – it wasn't that it was irredeemable, it just needed some reconstruction. He had all the intention to work it into shape, if only the _other party_ would sit his fluffy General ass down and listen to what the supers have got to say.

Nobody was going to listen to what they've got to say, wasn't there?

When push came to shove… if Ross and the Council needed more than words –

There was a knock on his door. It swung open before he could even OK it, and Happy came stumbling in, his face as white as sheet. He pointed a finger wordlessly at the sixty-four inch Sony Bravia OLED 4K screen, and proceeded to switch on the news. And _Spider-Man_ came swooping in from one corner of the screen to the next, rich and lifelike in colour, blur-less despite his superhuman agility, all captured in dynamic contrast at a wide viewing angle.

What was Peter Parker doing at the top of the _Washington Monument_?

Tony stood up so fast he almost flipped his revolving chair. "What the _hell_ is he doing?" He thought he might seriously pop a vessel this time. "How is he in DC? Isn't he home with May?"

"The tracker on the suit says that he's home."

"Clearly, he is not," Tony snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. "Were you nappin' or something?" he glared at Happy. "He's _live_ on national news. Do you have _any_ idea what Ross will do when he sees this?" He shoved one arm through the sleeve, and almost punched through the glass cabinet. "I'm assuming the DODC is on their way?"

"… Yes, Boss."

"Just great." He tugged at his jacket over the front, and stalked to the door. "FRIDAY, ready Mark – oh, for fu –" His phone was buzzing so loudly it drowned out the explosion that just took place onscreen. The knot in his stomach twisted at the sight of Peter latching on to the side of the monument.

He hadn't fixed the parachute in that Spider-Man suit since it self-deployed over the lake in Flushing.

"Stark," he took his call, and finally tore his eyes from the TV.

"Mr Stark," came the reply, and God, Ross had a thing for theatrics and bad timing, hadn't he?

"General. I am on my way to DC. I will personally attend to –"

"You better. We have men on the ground, and those in the chopper are saying that this guy in red and blue spandex scaled the monument, all the way to the top with his _bare hands_. Is he Registered?"

"… No, Sir."

"Right. He's on our radar now. And…" There was shuffling of papers on Ross' side of the line. Something else went up in dust and a mini-explosion, and Tony could hear his own blood pumping in his ears. "Huh, what do you know. He's _definitely_ the kind of guy we want to bring in for a chat."

"Meaning…"

"Security on the topmost floor are saying he's holding up an elevator cabin containing at least four occupants, also with his bare hands."

"Christ."

"You'll want to clear out the rest of your afternoon for this."

There was enough attention given to the incident, Peter didn't need Iron Man making appearance to up the hype. He took the fastest car he had and drove non-stop to DC – all four and a half hours of it – fast enough that it was bordering suicidal, but by the time he was there, all that was left was rubble and Damage Control working overtime.

He did spend the rest of the evening fielding questions from the press and NGOs about the appearance of another vigilante so soon after the declaration of Captain America and Sergeant James Barnes as war criminals. He fed them some bullshit about the Avengers _not_ being wishy-washy on their stand on vigilantism, and they were just as surprised as the rest of the world about the appearance of this super-crawler.

After the first wave of shock subsided, something changed, and Tony paid attention. The next batch of coverage was openly _appreciative_ , ruthlessly quelling dissents from anti-supers working independently of government oversight. In the dark quiet of two in the morning, Tony lay down on a cot in a bare office – still in DC – and listened to the radio praising Peter for saving somebody's sons and daughters.

Peter himself hadn't officially checked in with Happy, but Tony could relate. There was _a lot_ to think about after all that. Despite the fact that Peter had decided on his own that the tracker on his Spider-Man suit was getting in the way, that he _lied_ about going to DC… he saved some lives.

And this was good.

The Accord did not account for unprecedented crises. They'd be burying five bodies tonight if it weren't for Peter, if they had to wait for the Council's say-so to do the right thing. But Peter made the call. He pulled them out – put his life on the line doing that – and if that wasn't the height of selflessness, he'd be darned.

How would this good country repay Peter? By throwing him into the jail for _not_ signing the Accord?

'Cause that was they did to Steve.

Once really was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

There were times when playing guardian angel for Peter Parker felt like a replay of Ross' meeting with the original Avengers. New York, DC, Sokovia, Lagos, rang a bell? That's the kind of déjà vu he was getting, watching footages downloaded from Peter's suit – bank robbery in Queens, Meadow Lake in Flushing, the Washington Monument in DC… and fifteen minutes ago, Staten Island Ferry just off the harbour.

"Ten percent to the boots' repulsor, FRIDAY."

"Yes, Boss."

"… You know what, give it all we got. We got to _move,_ come on –" The lurch in his stomach and the blur in his peripheral vision made him want to throw up in his helmet. "Where are my backup repulsors?"

"En-route. ETA in five minutes."

He'd lost contact with Peter since the kid cut the video call with basically, "Nothing's up, toodles!"

Tony would like to say he knew a lying face when he saw one, but he did stare at one for two whole years and suspected nothing. Two years! Two years, Steve hid the truth about Howard and Maria's assassination, and in those times when they were alone, just hanging, _nothing_. Not a word about HYDRA, about the Winter Soldier – did Steve think that not telling would make the mourning any easier?

He had _no right_.

"Boss, I detect structural weakness in Spider-Man's suit. Extreme pressure concentrated in the limbs –"

"His location?"

"Suspended near the passenger deck. Or what's left of it."

He saw Peter struggling to hold the two halves of the ferry together. The webs' tensile strength wasn't strong enough for this – what was Peter _thinking?_ He would've torn himself in half, and Tony doubled back to the lower deck, and flattened his palms against the hull.

This wasn't going to work.

Still, he pushed. It didn't feel like anything moved.

"FRIDAY!" he screamed into his helmet. He could feel the ship coming down on him. "Oh God. Full blast!"

His entire back shuddered as Iron Man's exhausts went ablaze, and the suspenders strained to keep his own body from ripping apart. Just as he was about to say his last prayers, his swarm of repulsors zipped past him, adhered along the hull, and –

"Push!"

The ship came together, inch by inch, until it was whole again. He shot up to the upper deck where he last saw Peter, and breathed a sigh of relief to find the kid gaping back at him, all four limbs still attached to his trunk. Jetting over to the ferry's vehicle space, he welded clefts and tears and swept the waters for shipwrecked passengers. There was a ringing in his headspace. When he was assured that they weren't shipping any body bags to the morgue, then only did he acknowledge that he was, in the simplest term, pissed off. Oh, he had the damn _right_ to be pissed off – that Peter would sabotage the suit, and then _defy_ direct ordersto not pursue these people.

Hadn't he make it clear that there were people in charge of taking care of these stuff? People like the NYPD, the FBI – they still exist, by the way. This wasn't Avengers business, so _back off_. If he didn't know better, it sure felt like Peter was trying his best to get on Interpol's "Most Wanted".

The _other_ guy in the flying suit, though… _he_ looked like Avengers business.

"Mr Stark," Peter's voice cut into the thickness of his thoughts, shrill and stuttering. "Oh my God, I'm – I'm not sure what – how can I help? I wanna help, please –"

He'd lost track of the Vulture. This was the second time he swooped in and out of chaos.

"Leave," Tony said, curt. "Make sure you're not followed. I'll meet you at this coordinate."

JOCASTA would know what to flash on Peter's HUD.

It was just one mess after another. Guess what, the FBI _did_ show up after all. They were about to apprehend their targets when a red-and-blue super-crawler showed up and started webbing everyone in sight. So, that was a federal investigation foiled – after all the phone calls he made to make sure they'd open a case on alien-weapon-peddling, this was a slap in the face – millions of dollars of compensation to NYC Department of Transportation, the inevitable press releases...

Ross would _never_ let this incident slide.

He could only take his leave an hour later after all passengers had been accounted for, and evacuated to mainland. As much as he dreaded to rendezvous with Peter, he knew it had to be done.

He'd tried _so hard_ to fix all these – the Accord, the Avengers, the smithereens that were his life.

Tony hovered at the brink of the buoy, and Peter – his mask crumpled in his fist – stood up and looked at Iron Man with dinner plate eyes like he'd failed the entire world.

"Why?" was all Tony could ask. He made FRIDAY shut up all seventy-three incoming voice mails and messages.

"I told you these guys are different! They're dangerous!"

That it?

Tony let Peter verbally whale on him about how he wasn't taken seriously, about all the warnings he'd given to the Avengers that these thugs were something else, that all these wouldn't have happened if somebody would just _listen_ , and that this probably wasn't important enough for Tony Stark because if it were, he would've _been here._

Tony gripped the suit's ejection button so hard it dented.

"… Mr Stark."

For every step back that Peter took, he claimed. He'd gotten so close he could see tears brimming in the kid's eyes – why, so he could throw them both a pity party and wonder why shit seem to hit the fan so often lately?

"What if somebody had died today?" He advanced on Peter until they went out of parapet to walk on. "Different story, right? Because that's on you. And if _you_ die, I feel like that's on me." Something flashed on Peter's face, but he didn't regret it. "I don't need that on my conscience, kid."

"I'm sorry, Sir –"

"I'm gonna need the suit back."

With stakes this high, with all the collateral, there was no other way about it. Spider-Man had to disappear. A passing rumour – no name, no face. Nobody would remember some punk in red-and-blue Spandex scaling walls and spitting webs after they put out the PR fire.

Peter was done, and Tony just royally screwed up again.

Shouldn't have gotten the kid involved in the first place.


	5. Chapter 5

The Tower used to be his pride and joy. Strategically located between 58th and Broadway, near the Columbus Circle, Midtown, Manhattan. The pinnacle of modern architecture, and it operated one hundred percent on renewable energy. The Stark Tower, his swanky bachelor pad. And then, Loki came and ripped it a new one, and when he rebuilt it from the ground up, he welcomed in the Avengers. Home is where the heart is, eh?

How could he stay when there was no one left?

So, he sold the Tower, just like how Steve almost-accused him of selling out to the UN, to the principles on which the founding fathers had built this great nation. Boy, what a day that was. Steve was wrong. Steve was still _stuck_ in the black-and-white of his era. Steve failed to grasp the significance of in-betweens and find power in compromise. He would've told Steve that they _must_ work within the system. The Avengers had to learn to work with the leaders that the people of the country had voted to represent them.

To do otherwise was criminal arrogance.

He would've told Steve, God he would, but he was dumb enough to let rage control him, revenge blind him, and he went on a rampage, because that was so _easy_ to do, to batter Barnes in every way imaginable.

So what if Steve threw in the towel? He stayed, because if not him, then who? Who else was there? The irony was that, after years of hanging around Captain America he learned one thing: commitment. He wasn't going to give up and hightail and have all the supers hunted down like dogs when Ross had enough reasons to. If he'd ended up crucified for selling out, for sticking to his guts and staying _committed,_ then so be it.

Until that time comes, he wasn't letting go of the wheels. If he could work his magic into the Accord no matter how little…

Tony paused the video that was playing on the screen. He palmed his face, scrubbed his eyes and gulped lukewarm coffee in his mug in one go. "Play it back, FRIDAY." He hadn't been paying attention, which never happened.

It was something Peter's suit recorded when he was on the ferry, just before it all blew to hell. A group of men was constantly in his line of sight, so Tony figured they must be the targets. He paused the vid with a flick of his wrist, "Run their mugshot. Do we have an ID?"

Three windows popped up on the side, and Tony chose to enlarge the profile of one "Adrian Toomes". Squeaky clean, not even a ticket to his name. But, he thought the name sounded familiar.

"What else do we have on him?"

"Mr Toomes is the former owner of Toomes Salvage Company. Their business was displaced when all their contracts were taken over by DODC after the Chitauri's invasion in New York. Two months later when contracting private parties for clean-ups was deemed a federal crime, the company was forced into foreclosure in 2012."

Tony sighed audibly and slumped in his chair.

His fault, again. He thought he was doing the city a service by founding DODC. They were handling alien warfare, sciences out of this universe, for God's sake. He didn't mean to drive companies into bankruptcy. Charles Spencer, Zemo… all the collaterals he knew nothing of, that haunted his nights.

He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen.

He had only half an hour, tops of lounging in his penthouse. It would be someone else's soon, and Pepper could take up her twelve percent issue with the new guy. Everything he – and the Avengers, past and current – owned had been carefully bubble-wrapped and stuffed in boxes, ready to be transported to their new base Upstate.

He should get suited up for the party. Couldn't trust the lowest bidders with Steve's new shield and Thor's nifty belt, could he?

And he found _Happy_ pacing the front of his lab, obviously stressed out and agitated. He looked somewhat relieved when he saw Tony approaching, and wasted no time in explaining how _DODC_ would be supervising the moving, and how he'd been forced to furnish them with details of the Avengers relics.

"Come on, don't call them relics," Tony frowned at the tablet Happy was brandishing. It catalogued all the items housed in the Avengers armoury that Happy made him go through the night before, in case they'd missed anything. "They're bleeding edge tech – who authorised the DODC for this anyway?"

"General Ross himself."

"Huh," he passed the tablet back to Happy. "I must've missed the memo." He peered into his workshop, and found it just the way he left it this morning. "You haven't moved anything out of here, have you?"

"No. I thought you'd want to handle this yourself."

He sighed again. "Yeah. I was gonna suit up for the occasion. How much time have we got before they show up?"

"… Twelve hours."

"Plenty of time. 3D-print whatever we can, but prioritise Class A weaponries. _Especially_ the arc reactors, the Avengers' personalised gadgets, and the spare Iron Man suits. Stick in LEDs everywhere possible. Go crazy. As long as we can pass them off as the real thing."

"Yes, Boss. What do we do with the originals?"

"… I'll see where I can stash 'em."

Frankly, he'd run out of strongholds in New York. He _could_ make multiple trips to Malibu… but it would be nice to have them close by. Steve's shield had been polished, repainted and _slightly_ modified. Clint's arrows had something rad going on, he wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. He wouldn't know when the next call for Assemble would be. But _when_ it happened, he wanted them to be ready.

Steve still had his apartment in Brooklyn, hadn't he?

Nah. He'd figure something out.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony was already eyeball-deep in bureaucracy BS somewhere Upstate when the DODC showed up at the Tower. He'd left Happy to coordinate the moving, because his attention was better paid elsewhere. Like here, tinkering with the half-done shield. It was one of the first things he'd grabbed and stowed in the back of his Audi, wrapped up almost lovingly with an old, oversized trench coat. Blame it on adrenaline or blatant idiocy, he decided to take refuge in audacity. He strapped the shield over his forearm and draped the trench coat over it, and heaved Clint's quiver and Nat's utility belt – all bundled up in a back pack – over his shoulder, smiled at security, and walked through the sensors.

He carried _every single piece_ from the car to his private workshop. Like hell he'd let some random DODC personnel lay their grubby paws on his stuff. Try, and he'd break their wrists.

That evening though, as he was smuggling in the last of his arc reactors, something went down over Flushing. Funny how nobody alerted the Avengers about a giant cargo plane crashing into a carnival downtown. DODC told him after the fact that the plane was in camouflage mode, so that would explain them losing track of it – oh, come on, _really_?

The cargo was all plasterwork anyway, so he had no reason to lose his mind over the "mishap". Still no reason to let this golden opportunity pass by. He launched into a hearty tirade of "millions of dollars of investment" and "ultra-dangerous tools" and "global catastrophe scale" – and get this, he was entirely _justified._ As far as the DODC was concerned, those were _real._ Tony had to pretend they were, too.

Turned out, so did Toomes and Peter – oh God. When Happy realised the plane had veered off course and sent the DODC to track it down, the battle was already joined. By the time they got there, Peter was already gone, and Toomes was webbed to the crates.

Tony didn't know what to make of that.

He thought, taking the suit away would stop Peter. It didn't, and something inside him blaze with fierce pride. Kid had heart. Throw anything down his way, he'd fight for what's right, simply because that was the right thing to do. If that didn't scream of Steve Rogers…

Tony pulled at the strap behind the shield, just to give it a nice tension where he knew Steve fingers would usually grip. "I don't know how you do it," he grumbled, as he fastened one end of it with a screw. "Always so sure of yourself."

When the next phone call came in from Ross, he was ready for it. He didn't feel that much guilty about roping in Peter Parker into the Avengers – at the tender age of fifteen – now that he knew Peter would never stop. The only sane conclusion here – and there was no debate about it – was to make it legit. Have Peter sign the Accord, gain his rightful place with the Avengers, and receive full compensation, training and support for this high-flying career.

Either that, or Peter couldn't come home anymore. So, coming out really was for the best. Not the happy ending he imagined, but this whole crash course on why-the-Accord-wouldn't-work-as-is was pretty much a lost cause to begin with. As if he could pull Ross' head and ego out of his butt that easily. He should've known. He could relate.

The earpiece he'd fitted on crackled with static. Happy's voice came on loud and clear, "Boss, we're walking up from the parking lot. I'm bringing the kid straight to the foyer."

"You do that. And uh," he glanced upward, and frowned at the CCTV training on him. "You remember how to activate that jammer in your watch?"

"Yes."

"Turn it on when you open the door. I'll take the kid, and you stay close to us."

"… Understood."

He had the glitter and pom-pom ready. He had finger food, the red carpet rolled out, an auditorium full of reporters – all he needed was Peter's "Yes".

"Mr Stark!"

He wanted to give Peter something else, though. He felt like, after all that'd been said and done, he owed this to him.

"You screwed the pooch hard, big time." He grinned the widest he ever had in the last month. "But then you did the right thing. You took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies… all right, not my best analogy."

He called up the platform where Iron Spider was displayed. He could see the admiration so plainly on his face – hey, could anyone blame him? State of the art piece of equipment right there, as expensive as BARF, just _that_ much more useful. He played it cool, waited patiently for Peter to think about his offer. A room beside Vision? Couldn't top that. He told Peter if he were cool with this, they could make it official immediately. Just step through that door into an auditorium where the press was waiting.

And Peter said, "I think I'm good, Mr Stark. Thank you."

"… Are you turning me down?"

He owed it to Peter to give him a _choice._ So, maybe it was a test of character after all, who knew?

For Peter, or for the Invincible Iron Man?

At least this time, watching Peter leave him – jog down the steps and disappear into the crowd – felt right. He'd lost people during the mad chase of doing what was right. _Making_ people do what was right. Maybe it didn't have to always end that way.

"Hap, you still got that ring?"

And sweet, sweet Pepper.

"Are you kidding? I've been carrying this since 2008!"

He could do this. Fix things. One step at a time, because right now, he believed that _their_ ideals were worth saving, too.


End file.
